Escaping
by Jenna211
Summary: Scars were born but were hidden well underneath my scarf. That day would remain unknown to all, and but a memory that was pushed to the far back of my mind.


"_Chto? Chto?_" These were the last words of the final czar to ever befall Russia, her vast lands and her people, stricken with sudden apprehension and panic although only heard by those in the secluded room. The dark eyes of Nikolai, which usually were so caring and easing in reflection of the czar's tender feelings toward the country he ruled, stared incredulously at the commander who had just announced his death. Those eyes turned quickly on his family whom were there behind him, all given little time to comprehend what was going to be done to them and why before it simply... happened.

Yurovsky was the officer, and gathered with him was a squad of ten. They were ruthless in their doing and cared only for the words in their heads, the repeating of the command given to them by their leader. There were others in the room as well, others that had chosen to remain with the family. And there was me.. there was Ivan, reluctantly making my presence and being forced to watch the last of the Romanovs fall one after the other.

Nikolai had gone first, his chest punctured by Yurovsky's bullets and fresh blood drawn in return, the first of it to spill within these walls. And the rest followed suit. It was an unrelenting shower of bullets, carelessly claiming the life of the Czaritsa Aleksandra and ricocheting off of the gem-adorned outfits the four other girls were wearing. They had served as temporary protection and left the princesses with more time to be trapped in a room with the spilled blood of their parents, only to soon after be finished off by bayonets stabbing through them and their heads shot at close range. Little Alexei, the smallest and the last and final hope of a future heir to those who were unaware of his condition, was long gone as well.

The walls and the floor were dressed with crimson, a sight I'd often found myself drawn to and fascinated by, but given whom it was forced out of it was as unbearable to look at as it had been with my mother. But my eyes were fixated on the once vibrant, lively face of the youngest princess Anastasiya, once looking so longing to be free of the building she and the rest of her family were restricted to... she had entrusted a sort of warmth in me that I began to rely on, to keep me from going down with the imminent corruption my lands were going through. The room was filled with smoke that the soldiers were eager to get away from.

Something inside me was broken. Perhaps it was my sanity, hanging threateningly by just a small thread, but whatever it was, it snapped. Between seeing my mother slaughtered by Mongoliya and the Romanov family I had grown so close to along the years assassinated by the Reds, who now were treading victoriously throughout my nation, the two images were permanently etched into my memories and burned into my mind.

Days had passed and the news was spread to the citizens, and later on passed around numerous times to be told differently and its story altered among different people. Now it is still impossible to accept Amerika's take on it.

Whatever will I had once had to continue on was no longer there either. I had not anything to represent. No, I was the Russian Republic.. the.. the Provincial Government of Russia.. was I?

They were treading all over my land and changing my capital. My princess Anastasiya was taken away from me. What is it she had ever done to them?

Secluding myself to my bedroom was the only thing I could desire at this point. No, that is not right.. I desired for what has happened to have never happened in the first place.. but should it have happened..? Was I getting anywhere?

The blood had painted the ground outside the Winter Palace.. Those walls were vandalized with disgraceful artwork of what the Bolsheviks thought of the Romanovs.. the memories had built a wall through which I could not see any light. There was no happiness, there was nothing else left.

And I was fighting the urge to simply collapse in the corner. My hands were running through and pulling at my hair, fighting back any tears. Crying was for the weak. I looked desperately around the room for something relieving. The solution would be obvious. There is nothing else I could think of, nothing else I wanted to think of, and nothing else I wanted more overall.

I strode over to wear the majority of my tools and weapons were, not those that were most often carried in my coat, searching almost frantically for my answer. And it was found.

. . .

They have always told us that we can not die. We are nations, and that is what we must believe. And I must wonder, is that so they can keep us from trying? Trying it on ourselves, or on others? Though, if it were indeed true, it is likely that most of us would be gone by now. But mother.. Mother is gone. Who is to say we can not die? We can be as fragile as those humans. Skin capable of being broken, blood capable of being lost and the brain and heart capable of being damaged... if we could survive that, then death would be a gift. The one and only way to easily escape suffering.

The hangman's noose dangled from the ceiling and was staring me in the face. Just a simple loop of rope _would_ be my escape. And I had to respect it for that.

There was a smile on my face, but I did not mean it. There was no point in smiling anymore. There was nothing left inside of me and it was surprising that my heart was even still there in its place.

I next looked to the chair placed in the middle of the room. It was really silent in here. The sounds of gunshot after gunshot and scream after scream were still ringing in my ears, but this sullen room brought back the silence I never thought I would encounter again. There was also the thumping of my heart. I did not like to hear or feel it anymore. How could it still go on after all of this?

I stepped up onto the chair and found myself nearly leveled with the noose, dangling promisingly in front of me. My boots were at the edge, my fingers wrapping around the rough rope material and bringing it around my neck. It was pressing only lightly against the skin which, at the moment, had no scarf around it; leaving it vulnerable and weak.

The chair teetered threateningly whenever I leaned forward. Perhaps it was as weak as I felt, its legs strained under the weight they were forced to hold up; as were my own. I think my knees were shaking and my hands were following suit, but I would refuse to register any fear.

Now the only sounds filling the unlit room were those of each exhale I let loose, the last of the air that I would ever take in again, and the creaking of the chair below me. Everything else would go on. I would not have to suffer through anything else. Perhaps I should have given myself something nice to look at before I go... a sunflower or two, the face of someone who was close to me. But I would not see any of them suffer again. I could do nothing to help. They would not need me.

It was too late for that, anyway. The last image I would see is that of my bedroom. There were pictures of sunflowers though they did not live up to the real thing, pictures and portraits of family. They would be fine. Natalya would find someone to love her back in the way she deserves, and Katya would take care of her. They would have each other to rely on. And they would thrive.

One foot stepped off and the chair was knocked onto its side, no longer in reach. I could feel nothing below me. The noose tightened and I felt a surge of pain in my neck. The rough texture of the rope dug into the flesh and my breathing grew constricted. The air was leaving me and I could not get it back. But I did not want it back. I clenched my teeth together and... could only wait. Wait for consciousness to leave, and for life to leave me. Like everything and everyone else would.

The digging of the rope grew more demanding and I could feel the skin on my neck practically burning. My face was hot but I soon could barely feel the rest of myself. There was something hot trickling down from where the rope tore at the skin. It would all leave me soon... it was all fading... ~

. . .

But it didn't. My mind could just barely grasp what had happened. I had hit the floor without the chair there to save me. It was fallen like I was. My neck felt like it was on fire. My eyes were struggling to stay focused, but I could see that the noose was no longer attached to the ceiling, and it also lay on the floor. It could not hold me..? Was it not sturdy and strong enough?

I did not die. I did not even fall unconscious. My escape did not work.

I rolled over onto my side and cradled my face in my hands... I would have to continue on. I could hear voices coming from outside, but I did not want to listen to them. I was laying helpless and bleeding on the floor, pathetic, just like.. Just like it was so long ago.. n-no, I was not in _his_ house, I was in my own. He was not here. No one was here.

I had always aspired to grow up to be big. A big country, one day, strong and important.

And at this point I couldn't help the tears.

. . .

But I did not try it again after that.

Scars were born but were hidden well underneath my scarf. That day would remain unknown to all, and but a memory that was pushed to the far back of my mind.


End file.
